Colder Weather
by Rhianna-Aurora
Summary: CS. Emma's POV about events during "New Neverland". She doesn't understand it, she just knows it's cold without him near ...


… _and the song goes_  
_"I can't live without you,_  
_I can't live without you, baby" … _

Storybrooke had always been _cold_, but Emma could never remember the bite being quite so strong before. She told herself, pulling the collar of her coat up against the wind, that it was just an adjustment, she'd be fine in a day or two. It was just that Neverland had been so hot, so all-consuming, so …

Smiling was harder here, and that made no sense, either. There had been nothing to smile about back in Neverland at all, and yet it had been easy to do.

_Sometimes._

A cool wind skittered across the docks, picking up the ends of her hair and playing with them, and when she looked up, she caught his eye for the barest second … the cold disappeared until he looked away, taking that last little bit of warmth from his gaze when he did. She quickly turned, managing a smile at the townsfolk who wanted to welcome her home.

_She just wanted to sleep. Somewhere warm._

Something was wrong with Henry, and her first instinct was to tell _him_. It made no sense, she shouldn't want that. This was not a world he was familiar with, what could he offer her here?

Aside from warm words and a warm smile and all that conviction and all that unwavering faith in her … Things that Emma stupidly, selfishly, _desperately _needed right now. She didn't know how else to explain it. She didn't know what it meant, or why …

_She just knew she felt cold without him near her._

But there were so many people in the diner, so many people wanting so much of her time, of his time, of _time _— she missed the place where time stood still, just for a second.

Saviors didn't get days off in this world. They didn't even get moments just to _breathe _here.

He was looking when she glanced his way, and he was drinking again, and her resolve crumbled. Was it her fault? What could she even say? It wasn't fair for her to ask him to bolster her, when she couldn't do the same for him, when she didn't know _what _she felt or _why _she felt it or even if it was okay to …

_She just felt cold._

Cold enough that she didn't even know if she'd said yes or no when Neal asked her to meet him the next day … and then she wondered why _he_ didn't approach her afterward, to see what she'd said, or what Neal had said, what she was going to do … to act like he _cared_. Was he cold, too? He must be … he had to be.

Henry left with Regina and nobody said anything, except for her parents, but they didn't want to hear what she said, they just wanted to make excuses, give reasons … there was no one around who cared that Emma was _cold_.

She walked home, and barely registered the chill in the air. Maybe she was getting reacclimated to it quicker than she'd thought. Or maybe it was so bone-deep now that she was just numb. She couldn't even cry, though that's all she wanted to do.

_He hadn't even said one word to her since they'd been back …_

Saviors didn't have time to cry in this world, and something was wrong with her son. The ice in her veins was just going to have to wait.

She made up her mind to talk to him, he was the only one who would listen without giving her a reason as to why she might be _wrong_. He was the only one who would listen and act as though she was _right_.

_And maybe he could help her figure out why her hands were shaking so much …_

The wind was cold off the sea and she stood there for a long time, just watching the ships … his was empty. He wasn't there. Why wasn't he there?

_God, this was stupid, stupid, stupid._

Saviors didn't have time to watch the ships come and go, so she turned around to leave. There was something else she thought she should be doing, but she couldn't remember what it was until she found herself face to face with David.

Her hands were still shaking, but they were a little steadier with her father there. She could see it now, where she got some of it from. But he was still missing the point, she thought, but she didn't know what the point was any more. So maybe he was spot on about it all.

She didn't know. It was still _so cold _and she just wanted to breathe again. David was talking about _moments_ and Emma remembered several — bright, vivid, red and hot and seared into her memories, tattooed invisibly on her lips … sometimes she could close her eyes and reach out and almost _feel _his hair slipping through her fingers, and it wasn't cold then.

The ride back into town was almost warm, sitting in the front of David's truck, the heat cranked up all the way, his dumb jokes and kind smile as he tried to alleviate some of — what he assumed — were her nerves about seeing Neal.

She didn't think she was nervous about Neal. Whatever she felt for him was so separate from the cold … she could admit that now. Whatever it was she felt … it felt like … like something else. Something long since tucked away, residuals only remaining. Embers of something that might've been great, but they'd been left untended, and had gone to nothing but ash. And you could save ash, keep it close, keep the memories, but it would never burn again.

_It wasn't warm or bright or hot or red or seared into her memory …_

The sound of the scream cut through the _almost _warmth of the cab of the truck. David pulled up to the curb, giving Emma a look, one that she was sure was mirrored back at him almost perfectly. They were out of the truck without a word.

Saviors didn't even get a chance to put their pasts behind them once and for all in this world …

To say she froze on the sidewalk was no exaggeration. The ice that had been running through her veins felt as though it had wrapped around her bones, rooting her to the spot, her eyes taking in the scene in front of her. She was distantly aware that there was someone, somewhere who needed her help …

_But who was going to help her?_

She stammered something stupidly, and could only hear the rush of blood in her head after that. Not that the answers mattered. It wasn't any of her business. He hadn't promised her anything, he hadn't said …

_She hadn't given him any reason to wait …_

She could feel herself starting to shake, and wondered if she'd ever be warm again. She couldn't stand there, shaking and freezing and angry and hurt and _cold _so _fucking cold_, so she turned on her heel, not really caring if _they_ followed her or not.

_She didn't think it was better that he followed her. She wished he hadn't. Why would he still follow her after … and why the hell hadn't he come to _her_?_

David noted her face when she finally caught up, and he tried to talk to her, but now was not the time. There were people in town who needed saving.

Saviors didn't get moments to process something that felt an awful lot like grief, which was _stupid_, because you can't grieve for something that was never yours to begin with …

She just shook her head, waving a dismissive hand at David. "It's nothing," she said. "I'm just a little cold."


End file.
